


Across the Hall

by MissFiction



Series: Amelie Trevelyan Rutherford [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, F/M, First Meetings, Fluff, I'm ramping up to build this in to a modern au series, I'm so in love with my own set up, Modern Era, Swearing, i really really hope yall like it too ahsfg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-13 00:06:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4500084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissFiction/pseuds/MissFiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a new neighbor across the hall. Cullen's first meeting with her is a little unconventional to say the least? Modern AU, feat. Amelie Trevelyan</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Morning Meeting

The screaming started _way too fucking early._

Who the hell was awake earlier than 7AM, anyways? Especially on a Saturday.

The neighbour across the hall had moved in less than a week ago, and Cullen had to admit that despite not yet having had a full conversation with her, she was driving him crazy. He tried to be patient, moving in to a new apartment could be an extensive ordeal that much he understood, but it seemed like she had a never ending parade of people storming down the hall. Practically from dawn 'til dusk it seemed like there was someone bringing her something or pounding on her door or, maker preserve him, just _shouting_.

Cullen could only take so much. He worked long hours in a loud office building, and when he got home he just wanted to relax. Alright, so he mostly poured over his paperwork when he got home, true enough, but usually he was at least able to do so in relative peace and quiet. Not anymore, clearly. Which is why he was so frustrated when the shrieking started before the sun had even gone up. He waited a beat for her to stop, assuming that she had probably just opened her door to let in a friend she hadn't seen in a while, like she had done two days prior, but the racket didn't stop.

With a groan of disbelief he threw his covers aside and rolled out of bed. When the din only grew louder, as if the woman had run in to the hall, he couldn't help the worry that balled in his chest. What if she was actually in trouble here and he had just ignored her? He tripped over himself running for the door, fumbling with the security chain, and grabbed an umbrella from the stand beside the door to wield.

When he threw the door open he was met with the woman from across the hall, standing outside her open doorway in just her underwear and a thin tank top. She had long legs, and her auburn hair was falling out of the knot on the top of her head. His sudden appearance seemed to have startled her, indicated by her wide dark eyes and the way the shriek died in her throat. Her eyes flicked between his equally bewildered expression and the bright blue umbrella he brandished like a sword while she gasped for her breath. Briefly he realized that he, too, was in nothing more than a white shirt and his boxers.

There was a pregnant pause between them.

“I know we've never talked before but there is a _fucking_ _huge_ spider in my apartment can you kill it for me?” the woman asked, rambling. Her hands were shaking slightly. Cullen blinked owlishly at her as he registered her rapid speech.

“ _What?_ ”

She seemed to remember herself as well. “Oh. Amelie Trevelyan, nice to meet you. And, uhm, good morning. You are?”

He couldn't help but regard her with what he imagined was the same expression as he would a crazy woman. “Cullen Rutherford.”

She nodded and took his arm with a smile, reaching past him to tug his door shut behind him and leading him back through her still-wide-open door. “Fantastic! I haven't actually met anyone else in the building yet, so thank you for coming out to help me. I hope I, uh, didn't wake you?” She gestured to his attire.

“It's fine,” he ground out. “Would you just show me this spider so I can get back to work?”

She smiled at him sheepishly and let go of his arm. Cullen did his best to calm his agitation, knowing that many people were genuinely afraid of arachnids; he didn't really have a reason to be upset with _her_ anyways, it's not like he had actually complained to her that her friends were disturbing him yet, how could she solve a problem she didn't know about? He sighed and offered her a small smile of his own as a peace offering to show he was not _truly_ as unbearable a grouch as he seemed.

She led him to her bathroom. He noted that her furniture was mostly nice stuff, but her style seemed to be haphazard to say the least. As though perhaps she just collected furniture that interested her and did not particularly care for an overarching theme. This contrasted the plain modern furniture that decorated his own apartment quite drastically, but it seemed to come together in a rather charming if wild assortment of pieces in its own right. There were still a wide assortment of variously sized boxes stacked around, but she seemed to be making steady progress in getting unpacked.

Despite himself, Cullen also dedicated a few moments of taking _her_ in. He had seen her coming up and down the hall a few times, but usually from a distance. She had always been with a few people so he hadn't really been sure which person stopping by was the one moving in for the longest time. It wasn't until he saw her waving goodbye to some people on his way home from work that he decided it must have been her. But she looked younger than he had assumed her to be, now that he had seen her up close. He almost wanted to ask her age, because she couldn't have been more than twenty at best, and that was certainly a _little_ young to be moving into their first apartment.

“How... do you like the building so far?” asked Cullen politely, while Amelie stepped around a stack of the aforementioned boxes and cleared a safe path for Cullen to tread.

She smiled over her shoulder at him as she slipped a nearby sweater over her bare arms. “It's nice! This wasn't my first pick of apartments to be honest with you, I was supposed to be living further downtown but the place fell through. Flaky landlord, you see. So really this seems the better choice in the long. Alistair is a very nice man.”

After several long minutes of small talk, though she didn't seem to feel the awkward atmosphere as heavily as Cullen did standing around a stranger's house in his underwear so perhaps it was only a few moments at best, they finally cleared a decent path into her bathroom.

“It's in the tub,” she told him, hovering just outside the door.

Cullen leaned in to the room and peeked over the edge of the porcelain basin. Before he burst into laughter. Loud, genuine laughter that practically shook his entire body. He wiped tears from his eyes when he could finally find his voice again and raised his eyebrow at her. “ _This_ is your 'fucking huge spider? All this fuss over _that_?”

Amelie had the decency to flush bright red with embarrassment, but she managed to look indignant at the same time. Her cheeks puffed as she sputtered at his practically hysterical outburst. “He's _gross_ alright?! Would you just get rid of him _please?_ ”

Without breaking eye contact (or wiping the smirk off his face), Cullen twisted the nozzle on the water and popped the tab so it would redirect to the detachable shower head. He then used the water to spray the little spider that sat in the corner of the tub for only a moment before it washed down the drain without further delay. When he replaced the nozzle and turned his body back to face his new neighbour he started to chuckle again at her face. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at her expectantly, one eyebrow raised in a judgemental stare.

“Alright, alright, _my hero,_ ” she groused. “Shut up. And thanks. Can I treat you to coffee for your valiant efforts, or should I let you get back to work now?”

Hesitating, Cullen shrugged his broad shoulders. It _was_ a Saturday, certainly he could spare half an hour or so on caffeine and getting to know his silly neighbour a little better. “Coffee sounds good. Though I wonder if I could get my pants on first?”

As if for the first time, Amelie surveyed from him head to toe, a lingering once over assessment that made Cullen himself blush his own pretty shade of red. She smiled toothily at him before nodding her consent. “Alright, whatever floats your boat, Curly,” she teased, and he realized his hair must still be a mess as well, “but be back in fifteen or less, or else I'll end up forced into giving up your share to my friend here.”

“Oho, no, don't mind me. I'd hate to interrupt whatever... _this_ is,” a deep voice chuckled.

Cullen whirled around to see a new man leaning against the doorway. A short man, with a newspaper tucked under one thick arm and an empty mug held in the opposite hand. Amelie seemed to be entirely unbothered by his presence, despite the fact that she herself was still quite clearly in sleepwear as well. Without a word Cullen marched past him back across the hall and closed his own door again quickly behind him, wincing when it accidentally slammed, unable to process the embarrassment of the entire situation.

How was it the tables _always_ turned on him so quickly?

“See you in fifteen!” Amelie shouted, and he could once again hear her crystal clear even through the closed door. Her friend was unreasonably loud as well, and he could hear the man grilling the young woman over who the handsome stranger in her new apartment was.

Maker's breath. What had he gotten himself in to _now_?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so excited about this AU tbh, I'm hoping to have a whole lil' series with my Inquisitor?!? Let me know what you think, I really hope you guys like it as much as I do?
> 
> Kudos always appreciated!


	2. Names and Numbers

Amelie was quite clearly a busy woman. Her visitors became less frequent during the day, since she was rarely home throughout the afternoon as far as he could tell, and she had apparently received the last box of her furniture.

Though these house-guests remained just as loud despite her best efforts to quiet them after Cullen mentioned that he found it slightly more difficult to focus when she had company. The red-headed woman could often be heard _shushing_ her companions when they came by, telling them that they'll disturb her neighbour if they continued making a racket like that. It didn't work, not really, but Cullen appreciated the courteous effort she made anyways. He made sure to thank her when he saw her the next morning; him only just leaving for work and she apparently only just arriving home.

They had little contact for weeks. She would bid him good morning when she unlocked her door as he left for work and he would not see her again until the next morning when she did the same. He would sometimes wait just inside the door for her light footfalls so that he might have the chance at a short conversation with her. He increasingly found that he wanted to speak with her more. Amelie was a fascinating woman and a fantastic storyteller, particularly when Varric was hanging around for embellishments as Cullen found out the morning they took their coffee together.

She seemed reserved at first but a single conversation was all it took to discover that she was smart as a whip, had a quick tongue, and did not feel the need to mince words on any uncertain terms.

It had been several weeks since she had settled in to her apartment when she invited him over again, this time to meet some of her friends. She had knocked softly on the door, knowing that Cullen was a workaholic and that he used a great deal of his morning time on the weekends to review cases for his law firm.

“I have a few people over just now,” she told him, smiling brightly at him and taking in his slightly dishevelled form.

He blinked blearily at her for a moment, clearing away the case files from his mind.

“Thank you for the notice?” he murmured. He was even more confused when she snorted.

“Well actually I was trying to invite you to join us. Totally casual, I only thought you might want to put some faces and names to those loud voices that drive you mad all day.” She was teasing him. Her dark auburn hair was tied back in a messy ponytail and her attire certainly did suggest casual. Still, Cullen couldn't help the twisting feeling of nervousness in his gut at the suggestion of spending time with her friends. He was bound to be the eldest person in the room, were he to agree, by at _least_ a decade he expected. Surely he wouldn't fit very well in a room full of twenty-somethings.

Cullen swallowed hard past the lump in his throat and reflexively smoothed his hair until he was rubbing at the back of his neck. She was gazing at him so expectantly, practically hopping from foot-to-foot. “I do appreciate the offer but... I still have a great deal of work to do.” He tried not to feel too badly when her face fell noticeably before she covered herself.

“Oh. I understand,” she said, giving him another cheeky smile, like she expected that answer. She moved to step away from his door so he could shut it, and he almost regretted his decision. But Amelie paused again, before stepping back into place. “Do you... want my phone number?” she asked tentatively. Her fingers roll the hem of her top before she caught herself and smoothed it.

“You live across the hall?” Cullen replied, though when she recoiled and flushed with fresh embarrassment he instantly wished he had opted for something more tactful, like stupefied silence, instead. Of course he wanted her phone number, he wanted to be able to call and reach her any time. Or for her to call him whenever she felt like it, perhaps. Hell, she could do nothing more than text him silly things all throughout the day, like he knew she did with her other friends, and he would be a deliriously happy man.

But before he could pause and correct himself, Amelie has murmured a soft, “You're right, of course, silly me. I had thought... in case of emergency...? But no, you're right, I'll– ah, sorry, I'll see you later,” and scurried off to the safety of her own apartment.

Cullen sighed and closed the door, leaning his forehead against it.

“No, he can't come today,” he heard her voice from across the hall, “he's a very busy man with a _real_ job unlike you lot, so he doesn't always have time to _goof off_. You'll have to hope he has some _spare_ time for you next time.”

While he knew from her tone that she was only halfheartedly disdainful as a joke with her friends, he wondered how much of that feigned disappointment in her voice was real.

o O o

He must be mad. There was no other explanation.

The next morning he listened carefully for her just inside the door to his apartment. By his watch he should have at least a few minutes before she arrived home. He opened the door a smidgen and stuck his head outside. When he was met with complete silence, not even the sounds of anyone climbing the stairwell down the hall, he picked up the envelope he had left on the end table and rushed to his new neighbours door.

Of course just as he did there was the sounds of feet mounting the stairs, soft tapping that bounced off the walls. He fumbled with the thin paper, trying to jam it in her letter slot before the figure could arrive and catch him in the act, on the chance that it was Amelie herself. After he managed to jam it through he quickly jumped back to his door and locked it before sprinting halfway down the hall in no less than three strides. When he reached the stairwell he nearly ran in to Amelie. She reeled back in surprise but he caught her by the wrist just in time before she tumbled backwards and down the way she had just come.

“Late this morning?” she laughed breathlessly.

He gave her a lop-sided grin but said nothing, and quickly let go of her arm when she was righted. Amelie quickly reached up and straightened his collar before Cullen could escape her reach.

“Right, well,” she cleared her throat, “have a good day?”

He nodded at her wordlessly again and side-stepped her to rapidly descend the stairs. Amelie stared after him curiously. With a sigh she continued to her door after she had watched him disappear out of sight; she desperately hoped she hadn't overstepped some boundary when she invited him to meet her friends the night before. She had only thought that it would have been a good way to get to know him better without forcing him to spend so much time with _her_ by themselves. To relieve some of the pressure, per se.

As usual her morning mail was piled on the floor at her feet upon opening the door. Varric looked up from the morning paper, from his seat at the table and bid her good morning with a “Hey there, Sunshine. You're late today.”

“You know it wouldn't kill you to pick up _all_ the mail and put it on the counter when you grab the paper?” she scoffed. She threw her keys into the dish on the table by the door and carded through the mail briefly before she came to an unmarked plain white envelope. “Oh Maker, look, it's finally happened. Your ransom letter, warning of your impending assassination. It's arrived! Look at this!” she chuckled to herself at her jest, waving the suspicious thin paper at her roommate.

Varric snorted. “Alright, stop waving the creepy letter around and _open_ it.”

“Do you think it's for you or for me?”

“I don't know, but whoever dropped it off seemed pretty nervous.”

Amelie threw herself down on their couch and Varric strolled up to look over her shoulder. She tore into the paper hastily, her curiosity getting the better of her. In fancy, deliberate script read the following:

 

_Please, call me any time. xxx-xxxx._

_– Cullen S. Rutherford_

 

“I'm gonna say this one was definitely for you, Sunshine,” laughed Varric but Amelie was no longer listening. She had already taken out her phone and was in the process of rapidly tapping letters along the keyboard. She hit send and stared at her phone for a lingering second, like she couldn't believe what had just transpired before grinning at her very height-challenged roommate.

“Look at how bloody _frou-frou_ his full name is, all written out like that, though! What do you think the 'S' stands for?”

“I have no idea,” the drawf conceded, “but I'm sure you're going to find out.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so glad that there seems to be some interest stirring in this little AU! They're very fun quick little stories and I really enjoy writing them so I hope you continue to enjoy reading them!
> 
> As always, a reminder to please leave comments or kudos if you want to!


	3. Breaking a Few Eggs

In all the weeks they had been meeting up outside their doors, in the hallways, passing in the stairwell, Amelie never once mentioned any significant other. There was no sign of any potential men in her life. Perhaps it just wasn't something that one should bring up with their acquaintance in the apartment from across the hall, but somehow Cullen couldn't help the hopeful feeling that was sprouting in his chest in regards to how she might feel about him. There were many people who came in and out of her apartment, but not once had he ever seen someone spend the night.

It might be a little soon, but he really was starting to consider them to be friends. Amelie sent him texts on a near hourly basis, sometimes more if she was out doing something exciting with her friends, and they texted constantly.

He wasn't sure if perhaps she sent those pictures to all of the people on her contact list, but he still felt sort of content that even if that was the case, _he_ was still one of those people that she wanted to share her day with. And he never failed to reply to a message. There were some people in the photos that he was starting to recognize as her core group, and many of those were the ones that he often saw in her apartment, but he had no idea _who_ they were to her. 

It was foolish of him to hope for anything more, and yet...

Clearly pictures were her favourite things to send. She was happy to send him jokes and questions, sometimes just seeing what he was up to even, but Amelie was definitely a shutterbug. The first picture she had ever sent him was of herself, five minutes after he'd given her his number. She was even still wearing her coat when she sent the picture, her hair in the same silly top-knot and her face flushed slightly. She held two fingers near her very-pink lips and smiled a bright smile that showed her teeth. Her dark eyes seemed to sparkle.

In short, he loved getting pictures from her. Since he couldn't bring himself to actively save them to his phone, for fear of breaking some sort of friend protocol, he simply never deleted their conversations.

Speaking of which, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He was just finished packing up the papers he would need to review that night into his briefcase. The office was empty, and most of the lights had been shut off for the night. When he opened his messages he was greeted with a photo of some scrambled eggs; black around the edges but wet in the middle and positively soaked in a thick layer of what might have been cheese.

_Look at my eggs!_ the caption proclaimed. 

Cullen stared at them in horror.  _That looks like a mess. Please do not eat that._

She sent back one of those animated little faces, which he wasn't really sure how to emulate, a small face that looked simultaneously offended and shocked. 

_I don't have anything else. Unless you're planning on buying?_

He chuckled to himself. He had learned, over the course of their several week long conversations that she was a fourth year university student, working towards a Bachelor's degree in Literature, and worked most nights in a bar only a few blocks away. Needless to say she didn't always have an excess of money on hand. To his great relief, despite himself, she was twenty-two. That was hardly a  _ hopeless  _ gap from his thirty-one (ignoring the fact that in a month's time he would be thirty-two). And she didn't seem put off by him revealing that fact.

She was quite possibly the most interested person he'd ever spoken to, in terms of giving information about himself. She was shockingly attentive and seemed to retain information like a steel trap. Amelie, clever thing that she was, also seemed to have noted, through several texts on the subject, that he was hesitant to meet her friends so she spent a great deal of time in  _ his  _ apartment on their mutual weekends off. She would bring a book she was studying for a class, or sometimes papers for an essay, and park herself quietly on his sofa. They rarely spoke very much when she did so until she was bidding him good night, because she didn't want to disturb his work she insisted; she just wanted to hang out in his company.

“No need to entertain me,” she had laughed when he voiced his worry for her boredom, “I've got some frightfully dull work of my own to do. Let's just be frightfully dull together.” Cullen laughed, but he didn't reveal that his palms were too sweaty to hold his documents when she was lounging only a few feet away. 

_ Throw that away. I'll cook for you. _ Cullen tapped back, before he could chicken out. He simply couldn't let her eat that slop, it would not be right. 

o O o

When he got home he climbed the stairs and did his best to ignore the building of his own nerves. His apartment was clean and it wasn't as though she hadn't spent time there before, but this decidedly sounded much more like a date than quietly sitting on his couch and working while he did the same across the room seemed to be. 

He realized shortly after firing off the text that he was not really sure he had anything of substance in his own fridge. Here Cullen had offered to cook, which he was admittedly quite good at, and yet did he even have any ingredients? He couldn't remember the last time he had gone grocery shopping. It was too late now, in any case.

As he turned into the hallway he heard the usual ruckus coming from her room. His stomach dropped. How many people did she have over? Had he accidentally offered to feed all of them?  _ That  _ was decidedly even less a date than quietly sitting together. Passing a hand over his face and pinching the bridge of his nose at the headache forming just behind his eyes, he raised a fist to her door and knocked. Might as well get it over with then. He did his best to swallow his disappointment. 

The door flew open and startled him. Everything with Amelie seemed to be an  _ experience _ , anything that involved her seemed to involve some sort of excitement to say the least. 

Instead of the short red-head he had anticipated however, a very tall bearded man with thick arms and a thicker beard stood in the doorway. Without saying a word to each other they only stared impassively, before Cullen cleared his throat and moved to extend a hand.

“Amie!” the man shouted suddenly, turning his torso to reveal the shorter woman locked in a relatively loose headlock under his arm, “You didn't tell me your date was with  _ Cullen Rutherford!  _ This city has got to be to smallest in the world, I swear!” Amelie twisted in his grip, shrieking in embarrassment. Cullen bristled and grabbed the man's arm, surprising him into releasing his prisoner, though his laughter only grew louder. 

Amelie was flushed, but it appeared to be more jovial and friendly annoyance than honest anger in particular. “How on  _ Earth  _ do  _ you  _ know Cullen?” she snapped scathingly though her words lacked real malice. She slipped behind Cullen and peered at the large man from there, “I sincerely doubt he'd be friends with the likes of  _ you  _ Garrett Hawke! Thank goodness you're finally here,” she added, tapping Cullen's shoulder, “let's leave. Right now. Immediately.”

Garrett only laughed. Upon giving him a closer once over Cullen realized that the firm had defended the man before, not a case of his but one he had been consulted heavily on. The man had facial hair now and it had been a few years, he hadn't recognized him at first. Hawke had at least been innocent though his case had been a tough one; he had been framed by someone he knew. And he was a sarcastic pain in the ass. 

“Alright, alright. Good to see you again, Cullen. Treat the lady well.” chuckled Varric, appearing from within with a wink and dragging Hawke back inside with him. The door shut behind them, and Amelie sagged against his back in relief. He was suddenly very aware of their proximity.

After a pause to catch her breath, she smiled up at him and thanked him for the rescue. 

“Any time,” he laughed, and let her inside.

As though she were as comfortable as anywhere, Amelie strolled in and sat on his sofa, her usual perch when she was doing her homework. However this time she had nothing else to occupy her, her attention was focused solely on him. They made small talk as he left his briefcase in his bedroom before shutting the door and taking off his coat. She seemed comfortable; he was glad. It had been quite a shock to see that bear of a man darken her doorway, but that little surprise hadn't ruined the atmosphere. 

Hastily he remembered why she had come and he hurried to the fridge, throwing it open.

“So, is Hawke a friend of yours or...?” he asked, to distract her from the empty shelves.

“No. Absolutely not,” she laughed. “The sarcastic bastard. Definitely Varric's type of companion over mine. I can only handle him in the smallest of doses.” He turned to look at her and noticed the slight puff to her cheeks as she muttered indignantly to herself. 

There wasn't much to eat, he noted with moderate horror. 

“So, what are you going to make?” hummed his guest, changing the subject. He glanced over his shoulder at her. She seemed amused. Could she see the empty fridge from there?

There wasn't much, but he had eggs, onions, and cheese. “Did you have your heart set on eggs tonight? I can make a mean omelet.” 

She agreed, scoffing. “Sounds great, apparently someone should teach me how to cook an egg.”

There's a comfortable silence between them, as Cullen switches on a radio and gathers his ingredients around the stove so they're all at hand. Amelie moves from the couch to the bar stool at the island counter so she can watch him more closely. 

“He seems like he likes _ you  _ anyways,” said Cullen quietly, shamefully trying to twist the subject back around to her guest. He had seemed awfully...  _ familiar.  _ He feigned intense interest in an invisible something on his frying pan before he cracked an egg into a dish and whipped it with a fork, aiming for casual. And missing by a mile. 

“I'm not his type,” she said quickly. 

“Surely you can't know that,” he grinned, turning to face her while continuing to stir. 

She snorted, scooping her hair off her neck and taking a dish from the cupboard he had just pulled one from, as though she did so every day. He found himself charmed by her lack of concern with what he might think of her doing so. She cracked her own egg into it and whipped it the same way he demonstrated. He raised a brow at her, but pulled up a second frying pan and twisted the element's dial until it was heating. “I promise you I can. His boyfriend might not be too happy about his getting cozy with anyone else, anyways.” 

Satisfied and a little relieved with that answer, Cullen finally allowed the subject to drop. “You know, I don't think this really constitutes me cooking dinner for you?” She laughed softly at that. He took a pinch of salt and pepper and dropped it into her mixture and then his own. 

“I never was much of one for sitting idly by,” she said, bumping her hip against his. “But tell me, what  _ does _ this constitute?”

He didn't say anything but Cullen found himself wondering the same; the weight of a million different responses rested heavily on his tongue. Would it be presumptuous to call this a date? He glanced at her; she didn't seem to have dressed any different than she usually did, does that mean she considered this nothing more than 'hanging out' with a friend? Though upon closer inspection he noticed a thin line of eyeliner, and her lashes looked as though they might have been curled but really he was not positive on that one. Did small details mean anything special? Did she put forth the extra effort to look nice? What on Earth was he supposed to say? Maker's breath...

“I-I...” he coughed, buying himself a second by dumping his mixture in to the frying pan and holding his breath through the sizzle. She followed suit; he handed her a small block of cheese and a grater and began chopping the onion himself. “Green pepper?” She shook her head and wrinkled her nose, so he put that back in the fridge. “I don't know. What this constitutes, I mean. I don't want to seem forward, but–”

“Be forward,” she urged him. He glanced at her, and she looked at him in the same moment. She flushed and cast her eyes back to the pan. Cullen reached past her and shook it slightly so it would detach from it and slide around evenly. 

“Your friend thinks it's a date?” he pointed out. 

“Is it one?” she countered. “Did you mean it to be?”

_ Did _ he mean it to be? He certainly enjoyed her company. She was witty and quick as a whip. They spoke easily with each other, something he didn't always do well with many people. Though he got less work done he genuinely enjoyed the days when she would just walk through the door and sit on his couch, always so careful not disturb him. Completely content to do nothing but enjoy his company. 

There was no denying that he wanted to see her more. 

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She was staring at him expectantly; her dark eyes implored him for an answer but he offered nothing. He dropped cheese from her pile on one half of her omelet and topped that with a layer of onion from his before silently flipping it closed and doing the same with his. Amelie glanced between the food and him. She stepped into his line of sight, between him and the stove, as he attempted to finishing adding spices to each. 

“Cullen.” She seized his wrist. His heart stuttered at the way she said his name. “I need you to help me understand what's going on here. Did you mean it to be?”

He cleared his throat but he couldn't make the word come out. Instead he opted for a small nod. But it was enough. Her expression didn't change for a moment and for a few seconds he feared she was trying to pick her words to shut him down. He was a little shocked when she exclaimed her relief and suddenly she was throwing her arms around his neck, standing on the tips of her toes so she was tall enough to reach. His large hands hovered uselessly before they rested against her waist and the small of her back. She smelled of shampoo, lavender maybe, and she was so warm. 

“The egg is burning, wait, wait!” He held her in place with the one hand while he turned the dials and served up the omelets with the other.

When she finally pulled away from him, her cheeks were a little ruddy, as though she had just gotten through with running a marathon, and her eyes looked slightly wet. Her hair was falling out of its tie, falling around her neck. Without her body against his he had ample opportunity to place their dinner on the table and pull out her chair.

“So... we're going to try dating then?” she asked, voice small. A far picture from her usual, outgoing self. He appreciated that she was trying to share a sense of vulnerability with him. She sounded vaguely pinched, voice tight, as though disbelieving of what had just transpired. What he had just admitted. “We're really going to do this? Honestly, I didn't really think you were interested... I mean, I'm... I...”

He smiled, unable to contain himself and a little disbelieving that she would be so enthusiastic about the idea herself, using the side of his fork to cut a piece off of the egg she had cooked. It tasted better than any fried egg he had ever tasted. He pushed the other one towards her and she took it. If she wasn't going to let him do all the work, she was at least going to eat the one  _ he  _ made. 

“Believe me,” he scoffed, finding his confidence and his voice, touching the back of her hand intimately with the tips of his fingers, “I am very interested in you.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> B)


End file.
